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Dead and Gone

Sometimes, in the middle of the night,
I reach over to you,
And at times, even though you’re not there,
I still think I’m going to feel you.

Maybe I do.

It’s not with my fingers,
but maybe I do.
And if I could die to feel you,
I would,

Because I might still sleep with your skeleton’s bones,
and call out your name,
although you’re dead and you’re gone,
and if I saw you tonight,
I’d try to make you my own,
instead of scream at the stars up above
that took you away from home.


It Was You Who Killed The Grass

That lush green grass on the other side of the fence,
How quickly it has died since you hopped those wooden pickets.
The blades, brown and brittle, quickly rot and wither
While you wonder where your opportunity has gone.

Do not look behind you.

Should you see the spot where you once stood,
Sprouting from the soil once degraded by your boot,
The fresh and luscious sod, green, eternal, and optimistic,
You might not be able to handle the truth revealed by those
Ripe young roots.

And the truth is this:

Everywhere you go, the grass will die beneath your feet,
Crushed beneath the weight of your ineptitude.
So goes the notion that happiness is just a skip and a hop
Over an endless wooden fence
Locking you out of paradise.

Truth and Love: A Sonnet

I’ll bet I know the way to break your heart
I’ll bet you I could tear your dreams to shreds
Your end would come before we even start
Your conscience fraying into tiny threads

All it takes is just a simple gesture
The absence of my presence in your life
Missing hands to hold will help to hinder
The happiness I cut through like a knife

But killing you would kill me off as well
The self-imposed exile would make me low
My life without you makes a living Hell
Of endless days that never cease to grow

We are our greatest weakness, you and me,
A love made real by such sweet irony


It’s the civil clash of this social brawl
It’s my attempt to walk when I cannot crawl
Idleness comes before the fall
An attempt to fail is no attempt at all
I’d break my skull across this wall
I’d pound my fists until they’re red and raw
I will not give up, and I am standing tall
I will weather myself against the coming squall


I’m tired of talking over little things
It often gets too loud to speak
Whatever happened to the bigger picture?
We used to stare at it constantly
Seems like the only things we ever say out loud are lies
Like when I ask you if you’ll love me forever
When the promise isn’t there in your eyes

You just nod your head
You just turn away
Lying in bed together
Feeling so stuck that we stay

I never meant to be an awful bastard
I often wonder how I got this way
It’s never kept me from a moment with you
You’re just a habit that’s hard to break
Seems like the only things we ever do are what is routine
Like when I ask you if you’ll love me forever
Always right before we go down to sleep

You just nod your head
You turn away
Lying in bed together
Feeling so stuck that we stay

There Is No Love Without Being Loved

I have no ambition
When I am all alone
I can’t go five minutes
Without looking at my phone
I am so afraid
That I just missed your call
I swear I feel vibrations
When there’s nothing there at all

And I cannot love
Without being loved

I have no desire
To get up off the ground
And I can’t get much higher
If you can’t come around
I am so afraid
I’m crawling up the walls
My chances of real happiness
Are getting oh so small

And I cannot love
Without being loved

Won’t you help me out here
And get me to my feet
Won’t you sit down next to me
I’m saving you this seat
I am so afraid
That you’re starting to feel low
We could help each other
And find a place to go

And I swear I’ll love
While being loved


I can’t condone it,
this longing for one’s past,
but I do get it,
this want for what will never last.

In that odd time of adolescence
when I thought I was a man,
but was secretly still a boy,
I used to sail the bay with my friends
and pirate others’ pontoon boats,
climbing their tall masts,
swinging forward, then pulling down,
careening toward the glassy surface,
capsizing their vessels
before swimming back toward my own
to defend it from the friendly enemies
I had just made in the light of a warm summer day.

There is no breeze inside this office
and there is nothing natural flooding down from these fluorescent lights.
There is nothing natural in the responsibilities
that keep you away from pontoons, sails, friends, and boats on the bay.

I can’t condone this longing for the past,
but I completely understand the wanting for what can never last.